


My Own Vineyard (I Did Not Guard)

by Arsenic



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: David has a nation to lead, but no intention of doing so without Jack by his side.





	My Own Vineyard (I Did Not Guard)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fabrisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/gifts).



> Thank you to Forgottenwounds and LovelyHera for the beta. Title is from a Judaic translation of Song of Songs.
> 
> Dearest Recip--I hope this brings you some joy this winter season. Thank you for participating and giving me a chance to revisit this fandom!

Jack's sleeping when David's soldiers come to break him from house arrest. This is unremarkable. It's the middle of the night. Also, Jack and Lucinda have taken to sleeping most of the time by this point. Jack can't say how long that's been happening, but it's been a while. Time has become a useless commodity, so he's stopped giving any fucks about it.

Waking to the infiltration, Jack's first thought is that his father has sent someone to take care of the problem that is his only son. But when Jack goes on the offensive, his would-be attacker doesn't fight back, instead saying, "I'm not your enemy, Major."

Jack springs back, blinking. "Anson?"

"I left your father to serve under the True King. He ordered me to retrieve you and Ms. Wolfson."

Jack glances out the window. David probably hates being called that. "How far is your camp?"

"Far enough. We must be going."

Jack holds his hand out to Lucinda, who's curled defensively on the bed. "Trust me?"

She takes his hand.

*

It's two days of hard travel before they reach Gath and the encampment. Jack and Lucinda are taken immediately to David, who looks as though he hasn't slept in a month, but smiles anway, and pulls Jack into a hug. He greets Lucinda with a part-bow. "Ms. Wolfson, I appreciate you accepting my hospitality."

Lucinda laughs, low and tired, but sincere. "Thank you for extending it."

David looks at Jack again and says pensively, "You look tired."

For all his weeks and weeks of sleep, Jack is. Still, "Have you looked in a mirror recently?"

David huffs in acknowledgment. "I've had a bit of a break out to plan."

Jack makes a humming noise. "Then you should be able to sleep now. Your plan worked. Flawlessly."

David looks directly at Jack. "I should, shouldn't I?"

Jack never ceases to be amazed at how young David can appear while carrying the burden of ages on his shoulders. "David."

"They call me the True King when they think I can't hear." His voice breaks slightly on the moniker, despite his expression remaining stoic.

"I know," Jack tells him. "A problem for a man whose had enough rest."

"I can't— I don't—"

It is Lucinda who steps into David's space and puts a careful hand to his lower back. "Your bed, my lord."

David blinks down at her, but leads them out into the camp, over into the barracks. David has a curtained off section, a hint of privacy for a leader who is constantly out amongst the people. Jack doesn't have to see David in action to know: he's watched him since the first time he laid eyes on David.

Lucinda makes a shooing motion toward the bed. Jack isn't sure what to do, but she fixes him with a look and points to the bed. Jack says, "Oh. It's not—"

"We're both tired," David cuts him off.

Jack stares at David, mouth open. David says, "Nap with me, my prince."

Softly, Jack says, "I'm nobody's prince."

David shrugs. "Then nap with me, my friend."

Jack can't say if he's anyone's friend, either, but he's too worn to argue any further.

*

Jack wakes while David is still asleep. Even in sleep, David looks drawn. Not scared, but like a man who cannot get enough air when he takes a breath. Oh, he is beautiful. Even at his most envious, Jack has always recognized the other man's beauty, golden and pure, rough hewn and yet regal. His beauty, though, has taken on a shadow, a haunted edge that makes Jack feel oddly tender.

His eyes still closed, David rasps, "What is it you want?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Jack tells him.

"You didn't. I—the dream I was having. It pulled me out."

"Bad?"

"No, just…they all seem significant these days." David opens his eyes at that, tossing a chagrined expression in Jack's direction.

Jack shrugs. "You are prophesied. Perhaps they are."

David blinks slowly. "You didn’t answer my question."

Jack grimaces. "I know. But all I know is what I don't want."

"To be locked in a room as breeding stock?" David asks.

"Mm, well, if we're going there, we might as well list not being gay, not being my father's son, not being—"

David presses his fingers to Jack's lips, startling him into silence. David says, "No. You're exactly as you're meant to be."

Jack glares. Easy for Mr. Model of Sensitive and Yet Proper Masculinity to say. Quietly, David asks, "What don't you want?" removing his fingers and Jack hates himself for the way his lips burn, the way he yearns to follow them.

"To be in charge. It—I was not who I wanted to be when I was. Not…good or kind or even fair. Just hungry and empty. Cruel."

"You've had no other models."

Jack rolls his eyes. "I know right from wrong. I'm just terrible at actually choosing correctly when in a position to take a side."

"Isolation and desperation don't make for good decision making."

"In any case," Jack says, each syllable a tight snap, "that is what I do not want."

David looks away for a moment and then back at Jack. His smile is confined to his mouth. "You'll find your path."

Jack can't read David's expression, the tightness of his body language. Since things are already tense, he brings up what he has been putting off asking. "Where's Michelle?"

David releases a breath. "It turns out we're much better as friends when she's not actively trying to piss off her father, and I'm not feeling beleaguered in every direction." He swallows. "She is somewhere safe. She—I got her pregnant before we had that realization, and I'm sure you can imagine what would happen should your father get his hands on her in that condition, so we agreed that her location would be a secret even from me. She sends messages through an encrypted channel."

Jack runs a hand over his face. "You're having a child together."

"Friends can co-parent. Don't tell me you're a family structure traditionalist."

Jack snorts. "It's my deepest secret."

David's shoulders loosen a notch. "I should've guessed."

"Mm." Feeling as though he has pressed both of them enough for the moment, Jack asks, "There a place where a guy can get a shower and a meal in this camp?"

David's surprised laughter is bright and full in a way nothing else from him has been. "Yeah, I think we can make that happen."

*

Jack takes a few days to get the lay of the land. He catches Anson and Lucinda flirting one evening, gives Lucinda a quick wink and makes himself scarce, pleased she's finding her footing.

There are other men he served with here. They treat him with a deference he supposes he should appreciate. It just makes him feel alone.

He finds the piano by accident. It's in the basement of the abandoned church that houses their "headquarters." The place is crumbling around them, and Jack suspects the floor could fall down at any moment, crushing both him and the piano, but it's not enough to make him leave. He sits down and taps out a few notes, unsurprised by how out of tune it is.

Even if there were someone here who knew how to fix it, it's a luxury that nobody needs. David needs utilitarian people at his side. Those who can plan an attack, source supply lines, create policy from chaos. Jack can manage the first, so he will. He wants—he wants to be what David needs.

He's closing the cover over the keys when David says, "I wasn't even aware there was a basement in this building," and Jack all-but has a heart attack.

David says, "Shit, sorry, I thought you heard me coming."

Jack shakes his head. "I was—I was thinking. Distracted."

David crosses to the piano. "Is it intact?"

"Physically, yeah. Needs some slight restoration, and about half a year of retuning, though."

"I'm sure somewhere in Gath they have piano tuners."

"Probably ballerinas and magicians as well, but we're in the middle of a military campaign slash revolution."

"To what end?" David asks, cocking his head.

Jack blinks. "To the end of replacing a tyrant's leadership with the Chosen King."

"Sure," David says. "But why?"

Jack frowns. "Because you are Chosen."

"So I could be a tyrant too, as long as we fulfill the prophecy?"

"You are not a tyrant."

"What makes me different?"

The question is not flippant, that much Jack can see. He swallows. "You care for people more than power."

"But what does that _mean_ , Jack, if it doesn't mean that I want you to have this piano because you enjoy making music on it, I want Colin, from the fifth, to have time and supplies in the kitchen, because it's the one place he seems happy, I want the children in the camp to have a place to play stickball and catch and hop-skip-jump so that they're not cooped up in military tents all day? What does it mean if there's no joy?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask. I was a terrible king."

"I'm not asking the once-king. I'm asking my friend."

Jack rubs a hand over his face. "I don't know how we ended up friends."

David splays his hands. "Dunno. Because I wanted it. Because at some point you decided you wanted it. Because we both like playing the piano. Does it matter?"

"Michelle said you were good. At the piano. I'm barely passable, really. Dad said it was for women who needed skills on the marriage mart."

"Jack."

"I don't know, all right?" Jack's yelling. He doesn't want to be, and yet he's not sure how to stop. "I have no idea, David. I know that I want to see you smile, and maybe that means wanting what you want, which seems to be some kind of utopia that I don't even know is possible."

There are several beats of silence, their breathing syncing. And David says, "Not utopia. Just a place where a prince or an urchin who wants to learn piano doesn't have to have a reason to, doesn't have to dream without hope."

Jack swallows back tears. "You make it sound so simple."

"Pretty sure I wouldn't be in a crumbling church waiting for state-hired assassins to find me if it were simple."

"But?" Jack prompts, because he can hear it in David's tone.

David meets his eyes. "But possible. Just like tuning the damn piano."

*

The third time David holds Jack back from leading a planned incursion—theirs is a strategy of henpecking, but it seems to be working—Jack asks, "Do you see me only as a man who needs rescuing?"

"Huh?" is David's response. "What are you talking about?"

"It would make sense," Jack says. "You've had to pull my ass out of a sling twice now."

"I still don't know what we're talking about."

"I have military experience, you clearly consider my tactical advice worth listening to, since you've changed plans a couple of times at my suggestion, but every time I ask to lead a team, I'm refused. I can only imagine—"

"Don't finish that sentence," David growls. 

Jack startles. It's the first time he's heard David sound angry in a while. David is nothing if not even keeled in front of his people. "I—"

"I don't question your skill or ability, Jack. I question _my_ ability to do this without you. And skill will only get a person so far. There are always going to be unknown dangers in these missions. So, no, you can't lead them. When we make it to the gates, when it's the last push, then yes, you'll be at my side, leading with me, but until then, you are forbidden from risking yourself. I need you too damned much."

Jack feels his mouth form a silent, "oh," but he's too shocked to actually create any noise.

"I didn't take the chance of losing good men to rescue you so I could score political points, Jack. I didn't find a piano tuner just so you would smile because I've got free time coming out of my ears."

Jack swallows and takes a step toward David. Then another. They are within touching distance, and for the first time since arriving, Jack allows himself the luxury of truly looking at David, his unruly curls, washed but otherwise untamed, the flush of heat along his cheekbones. "David."

"I—I am not brave in the same ways you are."

Jack would laugh if not for the sincerity in David's expression. Nothing he has ever done has been from bravery, not one thing. Except, perhaps, this. Jack takes the final step, fitting his lips to David's. He whispers, "You are brave in the ways I need."

David swallows the words.

*

Jack wakes in the night, his skin still tingling with the warmth of David's touch, the sweet, nervous exploration they'd fumbled through earlier. Next to him, David lies sleeping.

The room has chilled as it does in the night. Jack gets up and builds the canned fire back to a mild roar. David rolls over just as Jack is heading back to the bed and wakes, looking confused. He frowns and says, "Why are you over there?"

"Making it warmer in here," Jack says.

"Are you cold?" David asks.

Jack shrugs, crawling back under the thin blankets. The camp is low on supplies, and David refuses to take anything his people do not have. "Little."

David pulls Jack into his arms. "I can help with that."

"Be my coat?" Jack teases.

"Comforter," David counters.

Jack kisses the skin of David's chest. "Yeah. That sounds about right."


End file.
